


Made You a Liar

by maxthebd



Series: Vicarious [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Irene being awesome, M/M, Riding Crops, Whipping, kink meme de-anon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxthebd/pseuds/maxthebd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kate," he nodded, shifting his weight to his right leg as his right leg twinged. "You look better conscious."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made You a Liar

The apartment's stained glass door glittered beautifully when a familiar attractive ginger opened the door, smiling wide when she recognized the caller.

"Dr. Watson, we've been expecting you."

"Kate," he nodded, shifting his weight to his right leg as his left leg twinged. "You look better conscious."

Her smile shifted to a smirk as she beckoned him inside. "Do come in. If I dare say, she's been looking forward to this all day."

Flushing hotly, John followed Kate toward the back of the apartment. She halted upon reaching a white-trimmed door and turned to him.

"This is where I'd ask for payment, however, she's decided that this session is on the house. Consider it a...reprieve from your flatmate."

He set the envelope containing enough to cover six months' rent on a nearby table. "I'd rather pay."

She retrieved it, tucking it under an arm. "Though that door, please."

"Thank you," he swallowed and steeled himself before twisting the knob.

At first sight, he sees a pair of patent leather boots, pointed toes gleaming in the room's low lights and the red soles teasing him with glimpses.

"Stop."

He stops, looking to see Irene Adler (she wore Death well) stand and approach, naked from the knees up.

"On your knees, soldier. Show me that dog's body." She stopped and waited for him to drop, his head tilted forward, eyes on the ground and hands on his thighs. "Consider me completely surprised." Grabbing his chin with a well-manicured hand, she lifted his face to catch his eyes.

"So beautiful. Stand, strip, we'll begin once you've finished." She lighted pulled on his button-up's collar, physically urging him to rise before returning to the chair and perching on the arm.

He undressed quickly, folding his clothes into a neat pile at his feet and readying himself to get back on his knees.

"On your feet. Hard limits?" She stood once more and walked back to him, stopping close enough that he could feel her body heat.

"Watersports, scat, permanent physical damage," he spoke low, aware that those scarlet-tipped fingers played lightly against his scarred shoulder. He dealt with bodily fluids enough with his daytime position and well, physical damage, he had enough of that too.

"Soft." She tapped the scar before her hand traveled to his other shoulder, fingers massaging the flesh along the way before she cupped his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"I live with Sherlock Holmes." Once upon a time, he'd say that his soft limits were negotiable, but his boundaries fell when Sherlock decided that they stopped existing.

And then the bastard came back.

The boundaries weren't really that important after his return.

Irene laughed at his retort and gently dug her thumb into his right shoulder. "Safeword."

"Red light."

"What are you looking for?" She stepped away, watching him as he, true to his nature, gave her the full-body scan that for any other client, she'd ignore, but for the man who dealt with Sherlock, it made her blood race. John Watson was not Sherlock Holmes, but knowing that he wanted her to take him apart was close enough.

John struggled to answer, so she followed up with another question that she'd laugh if he answered in other way than she expected.

"Did you come alone?"

"Sherlock doesn't follow me everywhere."

"John, we both know that isn't true. On your knees," she shoved his healthy shoulder down, letting him drop to the familiar position.

"Since you work on Tuesdays, he seems to think you're at the clinic and will continue to think that until I send you home. After which, well, darling, it wouldn't matter."

"Of course not, Mistress."

She ruffled his hair before walking to the large wardrobe just around the corner, peering and searching through the internal drawers, returning with padded leather cuffs and a length of silk. "Arms in front - oh, John," scarlet lips pulled up into a smile when she was presented with John's hands in front and close together, waiting to be restrained. "You've been trained well. Now stand."

Once John stood, she slid a hand along his cleanly-shaven jaw. "When did you last sub?" She slipped the cuffs over his wrists and locked them into place, clipping them together with a length of chain, tugging at the connection and pausing, watching John's expression flit from nervousness to fear to arousal and to apprehension.

"Four years ago." He replied, dark blue eyes focused on her own.

She smiled once more. Four years and submission still fit the man before like a glove. Oh, she'd _definitely_ enjoy this session.

"Relax," she demanded with another tug at the chain, slipping in a heavy-duty carabiner while keeping her focus on the man who's expression shifted from apprehension to calm and quickly returned back to apprehension when she tugged him to a heavy, suspended hook that he didn't notice earlier. "Lift," she tapped his hands and let him raise his arms high enough so she could thread the hook through the carabiner and then she waited for John to accustom himself to the position.

His breathing sped up enough to urge Irene to offer the blindfold.

"Do I take your vision away from you?"

"Please, Mistress," he breathed, his voice cracking half-way through "Mistress."

She blindfolded him, smiling wider when his breathing evened out. "Good boy," she pressed a kiss to his covered brow before carding a hand through his hair to ground him. "You're doing so well."

With one more brush against his back, she'd be mindful of his shoulder, Irene stepped away for one more thing, only to stop when John's phone chirped.

She looked up to John, whose position did not allow his looking her way, but his head up as high as it was, he heard the same thing.

Naughty boy.

"No respect for your mistress tonight, my awful soldier." She unlocked the phone, his password being painfully easy, and saw 14 missed messages.

Scarlet lips pulled up at their edges as she flipped through them, completely unsurprised through the first few, really, making John fetch pens, prodding the man to answer, and oh, this was interesting.

The anxiety of the last few messages was enough to make her sigh and stare at John's scarred back.

John Watson still had no idea how important he was to Sherlock Holmes.

 

**John!** -SH

**You're not with Mycroft** -SH

**What's wrong?** -SH

**Where ARE you?** -SH

She powered the phone down and tossed it on the pile of clothes at her feet.

John Watson came to her for an escape from Sherlock Holmes.

He paid her to give him a reprieve.

Irene Adler would honor that (and have Kate redeposit John's payment into his bank account. If Sherlock wasn't taking care of his doctor, she could at least help).

Grabbing the riding crop tucked into the chair's cushions, she returned to John, watching him track her with sound alone.

She stopped behind him, placing the crop's leather tip on the small of his back.

He tensed momentarily, exhaling and relaxing.

The sight of his back rippling as he calmed down brought a smirk back to her face. "Safe-word when you've had enough." She reminded him, smirk unseen as he flexed his arms and settled into his bound position.

She brought the crop across his back once, again, watching him recoil beautifully for the first two strokes.

John shifted his grip from his hands clasping each other to gripping the chain and leaning with each strike.

"Thirty strokes for not turning your phone on silent," even if she'd reconsider how he looked after fifteen strokes, it wouldn't do to shred his back on the first night.

The twentieth stroke came with a shift as John shuddered and released a soft but low moan.

"Ten left," she lifted to make the next strike, gasping herself when a large, fever-hot hand grabbed her arm, halting it in place.

Her smile returned when Sherlock Holmes took the crop and crowded her out of the way. He raised his arm not nearly as high as Irene would have, but gracefully struck the shuddering man with the crop with a practiced stroke.

Moans grew in volume as the last strokes danced over his arse, the final stroke capped by John's almost breathless-scream and his body bowing forward and then sagging listlessly.

Irene didn't need the blindfold to tell her that the soldier was in a head-space that she saw multiple clients enjoy.

A job well done, if she were completely honest with herself.

Sherlock dropped the blood-stained crop and spun John by the hook to face him. He stooped low to twine one arm around the limp man's waist, the other releasing the carabiner from the hook.

John dropped against Sherlock's chest, muscles trembling from the treatment they received as he nestled his face into the skin the taller man's neck offered.

Keeping close, Irene slid her fingers against the back of John's neck and kept her voice low enough to not dislodge John from subspace. "So good, John. " She glared up at Sherlock, letting the man realize that he took a prize away from her and she wasn't enjoying the feeling. "Pity that Sherlock does follow you everwhere."

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt is not dead. I still have to write the aftercare. :)
> 
> Vicarious is my way of owning up to the Kink Meme prompts. Chances are, each prompt is lightly scrubbed from their original LJ formats.
> 
> Very lightly.


End file.
